In sickness and in health
by wolf of infinity
Summary: "A-am I going t-to die?" the boy suddenly cried, his hands clutching at Arthur's shirt as though he was a drowning person clinging to a life boat - Arthur is concerned when little Alfred grows very sick. England and America father-son story.
1. Chapter 1

_This is the first time I'm posting a story with more than one chapter here at this site…! __It's once again a story where I focus on a Father-son relationship between Arthur (England) and Alfred (America) ^^ It's just so cute, I can't help myself~ It'll be a little dramatic, a little sad, a little fluffy, hopefully a little heart-warming and a little angsty, and I really do hope it turned out ok! ^^ _

_You might think that the characters are OOC, but then again, we haven't seen a situation like this in the anime or the manga, have we, so who can say that the characters wouldn't react like this…? _

_I decided to just make this__**AU**__, because it doesn't fit with the timeline before the Revolution at all x) So there won't be any references to them being nations. You can just… think that Alfred is Arthur's adopted son or something, ok? ^_^'_

_Anyhow, I hope you'__ll enjoy~_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia – Axis Powers or any of its characters._

oOo

The large, mahogany desk was barely visible under the masses of paper work, important documents, utensils, files and so on. A small desk lamp had been shining for almost six days in a row, and was clearly in need of a new light bulb, as it kept flickering, as if to will the desk's occupant to get some rest.

Arthur Kirkland had no intentions of getting rest anytime soon, however, as he was far too occupied with the stress that had haunted him these last days. Well, longer than that, but it seemed that all sorts of time-craving work had just been waiting to pounce on him at the exact same moment. Thus, he had sacrificed such annoying – and unfortunately quite necessary – things as rest.

The slender body heaved a small sigh as he reached for his tea cup, only to find it empty. This meant he had to leave his office. It seemed these days he barely left the room, except for meals – he insisted to set a good example for Alfred. A sting of regret made itself known at the thought. The boy was probably feeling very neglected by now. The boy was used to the amount of work Arthur often buried himself into, and the way he'd stubbornly keep working until it somehow sorted out – even if he should push aside his own health in the process. However, he knew Alfred hated it when he didn't get the attention he so craved for.

Standing, Arthur winced as his body complained noisily, joints cracking and muscles screaming from sitting in such a tense position for so long – the old grandfather clock by the wall showed him that it was far into the afternoon already.

The house was silent as he walked out, and this struck him as odd. Sure, it was quite large and he and Alfred were the only ones living there, the elderly maid that had been working for him for ages only coming around every second day to clean, cook, do laundry and so on. Still, it was usually filled with life during the day – to be a small child, Alfred was quite good at filling the building with sound, warmth and life. Arthur shivered involuntarily, a small frown settling on his already troubled features. Where was Alfred anyway?

Heading down for the kitchen, he found the first floor equally void of sound as the second, and it was unnerving him a little. Setting the tea cup on the counter, he decided to go see if Alfred was nearby. He wouldn't be outside – the icy autumn winds and the heavy rain fall was enough to keep anyone remotely sane indoors. Although the kid might be stubborn and a little reckless at times, he wasn't stupid.

Deciding to head back up in search for the boy, he couldn't help the feeling in his gut telling him that something was off. He couldn't quite explain it, but it grew steadily as he knocked on the door to Alfred's room, not getting a reply.

"Alfred?" he called out hesitantly, knocking again. Opening the door slightly, he blinked at the dim-lit room. How many times had he not tried to teach the boy to turn of lights when he didn't need them, without much success, and now he voluntarily had only one light switched on? "Alfred…?" he tried again, a little softer this time as he noticed the small lump underneath the blankets on the bed.

Walking over, he grew more worried when he didn't receive as much as a reaction to his presence. A cough suddenly made him freeze in his tracks, followed closely by a sniffle as the lump trembled.

"Alfred," Arthur gently laid a hand on the lump as he stood beside the bed, only to feel it tense and stiffen under his touch. "Are you all right?" his voice had taken on the gentle, father-like tone he usually wore around the boy automatically. He couldn't help it; the boy had touched a soft spot in his heart the moment he'd looked into his eyes the first time they met. Arthur had from the very first moment – although he didn't know it at the time – let the boy through the emotional defences that had kept others at a distance for years.

He pushed the memory aside and pulled away the blankets, finding Alfred lying there, curled up into a small bundle and trembling. The previous worry immediately became heavy concern as he eyed the pallid shade of the boy's face, contrasting to the red tint marring his cheeks and his glassy, blue eyes, currently swimming with tears.

"Alfred! What's wrong?" he breathed. Alfred only stifled a sob, refusing to meet his eyes where he lay. Arthur sat down on the edge of the bed and pushed a few strands of damp, dark blonde hair out of the boy's round face, finding the skin far warmer than usual against his hand. Resting the back of his hand against his forehead, he gave a small gasp. The boy was burning up!

"How long have you been like this?" he asked, subconsciously stroking the soft locks of hair as he waited for Alfred to speak. On the outside, he tried to be strong and calm – inside he was slowly panicking. Alfred had never been sick before, and he'd never dealt with an ill child before – what if this worsened? What should he do? And why, for the love of all holy, hadn't Alfred told him he wasn't feeling good?

"Mm…" Alfred only breathed, before coughing again, more roughly this time, although it seemed he was holding back. Arthur didn't hesitate, pulling the boy up on his lap and rubbing small circles on his back as he waited for the fit to pass. Eventually, it did, but now Alfred was crying even worse than before.

"Alfred, look at me," Arthur spoke mildly. Alfred finally looked up and the pure fear made the Englishman's heart give a nauseating twist inside his chest.

"A-am I going t-to die?" the boy suddenly cried, his hands clutching at Arthur's shirt as though he was a drowning person clinging to a life boat.

"What? Why are you-" The realization struck Arthur and his eyes widened slightly. Alfred had never been sick before, and now that he seemed to be hit with a case of bad cold – he didn't dare believe that it was anything more ferocious than that – he was naturally terrified. "No! No, of course not, Alfred," he hugged the boy close and felt the warm kid clinging to him, sobbing into his chest.

"B-but… it hurts! Y-yesterday my throat was itchy and when I woke up this morning… everything hurt!" Alfred sobbed as Arthur swallowed heavily, running hid hand through the boy's hair, as he often did as a means to comfort him.

"I won't let you die, Alfred, I promise!" Alfred said, holding him at a little distance so he could meet the boy's eyes. He gave a warm smile and the boy visibly calmed down at his words. "Now, can you tell me where it hurts?"

"M-my chest hurts, and when I breathe I just want to cough… m-my head hurts too, and my throat, and… my body feels heavy." The boy finished with a sniffle.

"Hm, as far as I can tell you have caught a cold," Arthur murmured. Alfred made a small grimace.

"How can you _catch_ a cold?" he asked, clearly thinking of the word used to describe things such as, for example, the current weather.

"Well… It's a sickness, but it isn't usually dangerous, it just makes you feel bad for a while before getting better," he tried to explain. "It often comes with fever, headache and a general ache, and might make you cough."

Alfred nodded drowsily, now almost relaxed against Arthur's chest, although still trembling.

"I'm c-cold…" the boy said quietly, even though he was wearing the sweater Arthur had given him some time ago, which was pretty thick and warm.

"I'm afraid that often happens too," Arthur murmured, rocking the boy gently in his arms as the blue eyes began to droop sleepily. "Alfred, why didn't you tell me?" The boy looked up at him and bit his lip.

"I d-didn't want to disturb you… You've been so busy lately." Arthur felt tears burn in his eyes, but refused to let them fall, only holding the boy closer. When he spoke, his voice nearly broke at the end.

"I'm never so busy that you can't come to me when you're scared or when you hurt, Alfred. I'm so sorry I haven't been much with you lately…"

"It's ok." And there it was; that accepting, forgiving nature of the cheerful, happy-go-lucky child, which had quite possibly been what attracted Arthur to him in the first place. "I'm sorry too…" Arthur was bewildered at this.

"What for?"

"For getting sick and worrying papa…" the boy's eyes dropped shut and his breathing evened out in his sleep, before the stunned man had the time to reply. Arthur swallowed heavily.

"Oh, Alfred…"

And a silent tear rolled down his cheek as he put the boy back in bed, carefully tucking him in before standing, determined to do his best to make the boy as comfortable as possible.

oOo

_Ok, it's a bit short, but there will be more, IF you could leave me a few reviews, telling me what you think of my story so far~ __I'd truly appreciate some feedback ^^_

_~Wolfie_


	2. Chapter 2

_First of all; Thank you very much for your reviews, people! They warm my heart 3_

_Here's the second part of my little s__tory ^^ The song I've used in this chapter is an old British folk song called "The water is wide". There are lots of different versions of the lyrics, but I hope the ones I've used aren't too incorrect ^_^' I really like that song, it's so pretty and sad~ _

_Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter~_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia – Axis Powers or any of its characters, nor do I own the song "The water is wide"._

oOo

"Shh, it's all right," Arthur murmured softly, rubbing his hand in circles on the boy's back as he coughed violently. It was two days since he'd found Alfred, and the concern had morphed into fear for the boy. His condition wasn't getting any better – in fact, it just kept getting worse. God, he missed the loud, cheerful and overly energetic Alfred.

The fever seemed to have risen to new heights, and when the boy wasn't sleeping, he appeared distant and unfocused, as though he wasn't fully awake and coherent. Several times, Arthur had to comfort him when he had a nightmare or thought he was seeing ghosts in the dark corners of the room. Alfred was terrified of ghosts, and had been for as long as Arthur had known him. In his current condition he seemed to think they were everywhere, waiting to eat him alive or something equally horrifying.

"Mm," Alfred tried to say something, but his tired, hoarse voice only managed to mutter incoherently as his eyes blinked slowly, glassed over and twinkling with fever. "P-papa…" Arthur heard somewhere in between the words, as he smiled softly down at the boy in his arms. At first, he'd let the boy relax on his own, but the last part of the day and evening, he'd taken to stay in the bed room all the time, except for when he had to get water or warm soup that the boy didn't want to eat.

"I'm here, Alfred," he said, rocking the child gently in his arms as the coughing fit passed and he could breathe more easily again. When he was certain that the fit was over, he lay the boy down and tucked the blankets around his visibly thinner frame.

"Papa… can you… sing for me?" Alfred suddenly asked, his voice only a little slurred as his mind cleared for a moment. Arthur blinked in surprise. The boy always told him that he wasn't a good singer and that he preferred hearing a story instead – Arthur was great at telling stories, and secretly enjoyed it as well, even though he never admitted that to anyone.

"What do you want me to sing?" In all truth, he didn't know that many songs – he doubted that the old pirate songs he liked would fit into this situation. Alfred looked like he was in deep thought, and Arthur partially expected him to fall asleep before coming up with an answer, but suddenly he smiled a little.

"That song you like so much," he murmured. Arthur raised his eyebrows. He liked a lot of songs… "The one you hummed earlier," Alfred clarified, and the Englishman realized which one he meant. It was an old folk song about love… Although it was sad, he liked it, and it seemed by the slightly eager look in the boy's eyes that he did as well.

"Hm, all right…" he said, clearing his throat slightly as he closed his eyes, beginning to sing in a soft, slightly uncertain voice. It got steadier as he got into it, and all the while he ran his hand through Alfred's hair, singing some of the verses of the song.

"_The water is wide I can not cross o'er  
And neither have I wings to fly  
Give me a boat that can carry two  
And both shall row - my love and I_"

He wasn't the best singer in the world, but he knew it didn't matter when he glanced down at the boy who looked content, eyes half closed as he looked up at Arthur with a small smile. __

"_Now love is gentle, love is kind  
The sweetest flower when first it's new  
But love grows old and waxes cold  
And fades away like the morning dew_"

Arthur felt the heat of the boy's skin against his chest, a sad expression crossing his face as he sang softly. It was the only sound to be heard in the room, except Alfred's soft, raspy breathing.__

"_A ship there is, and she sails the sea  
She's loaded deep as deep as can be  
But not so deep as the love I'm in  
I know not if I'll sink or swim_"

Alfred's eyes slowly closed as he gave a small sigh of contentment, snuggling against Arthur's hand as his breathing evened out and he fell asleep. The Englishman's voice quieted as he began on the last verse.__

"_The water is wide I can't cross o'er  
And neither have I wings to fly  
Give me a boat that can carry two  
And both shall row - my love and I  
And both shall row - my love and I…_"

His voice faded and left him to hear the strained breaths of the boy as he slept, his pale face peaceful.

"You need to get better soon, Alfred…" he whispered, bending down and kissing the boy's forehead before wetting the piece of cloth he'd used in an attempt to quell the fever and that way ease the boy's discomfort. The water had grown lukewarm, and he sighed as he stood, heading downstairs to get cold water.

He rubbed the brim of his nose as he refilled the bowl with water. And here he thought he'd slept too little before… Lately he'd stayed awake to watch over Alfred, barely catching a few hours of much-needed eye shut. Glancing at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall, he frowned. He looked terrible, dark shadows lingering under his tired eyes. His skin was somewhat pallid and his hair even messier than usual, sticking out at random angles.

Holding the bowl of water, he stumbled out of the kitchen – and promptly giving a startled cry as the bowl fell from his grip. Francis stared at him, his amused grin slowly fading as he took in the Englishman's worn appearance.

"F-Francis! What in the bloody hell are you doing locking yourself into my house at this hour?" Arthur exclaimed, one trembling hand having gone subconsciously to his chest, where his heart beat quite loudly. He was by no means easily startled, but he had been so preoccupied with his thoughts and worry, and hadn't expected to see the Frenchman standing just outside the kitchen door way.

"It wasn't locked, _Mon ami_…" Francis began, but Arthur just groaned, picking up the bowl, which was luckily unharmed from the crash to the floor. Its contents had been splattered across the floor and Arthur's pants, and he sent Francis a tired glare, whirling back to refill the bowl.

"Arthur, you look awful," Francis stated, but there was no taunt in his tone, only surprise, confusion and – although Arthur tried to ignore it – concern.

"What do you want?" he asked instead of replying to the comment, wincing a little as his tone was harsher than he'd meant for it to be. The Frenchman might be a major paint in butt at times, and it was rare for them not to argue about something or the other, but the guy usually meant no harm.

"I merely wished to visit. I haven't seen you for ages, _Angleterre_…" the French's words were accompanied by a small frown, which was fairly unusual and didn't quite fit on his soft features.

"I've been busy," Arthur sighed, carrying the bowl past the Frenchman, for the time being ignoring the small pool on the floor. "Really, I haven't got time to humor you, please leave."

"What's gotten into you? Are you sick? What are you doing with that water anyway? And where is Alfred?"

"Alfred's ill…" Arthur answered after a small pause, looking at his own troubled expression in the bowl of water.

"What? Young Alfred is- oh…" Francis fell silent and Arthur continued on his way up the stairs.

"Is it… bad?" he hadn't realized that Francis was following him up the stairs, falling into step a few feet behind him.

"I… don't know," Arthur admitted, fists clenching the bowl as he moved down the corridor. One part of him wanted his old friend to leave, while another didn't want to be left alone with the sickly child again. He had to admit, he was scared. Very scared. How could he know if Alfred wasn't truly ill, and would… No. That wouldn't happen, he'd promised the boy he wouldn't let him die. Arthur never was one to break promises.

He reached the room and walked in, only to send the bowl clattering to the floor a second time. This time it seemed it had had enough, splintering into several pieces.

"Alfred!"

"_Mon Dieu…_!"

oOo

_Ooh, cliff-hanger~ ^^ I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a review, telling me what you think __^^ If you do, I'll post the last part, I promise! Thanks for reading, and sorry that it's short!_

_Mon ami – my friend"_

_Mon Dieu – my God_

_~Wolfie_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you so very, very much for your reviews, it means a lot to me, it really does! :D_

_Last part~ Hope you like it! Oh, and btw. I'm not a doctor or anything, but I hope I didn't mess up completely with this… Please bear with me if there are some mistakes or something… ^_^'_

_Disclaimer: I still do not own Hetalia – Axis Powers or any of its characters. _

oOo

Arthur felt as though his heart had stopped beating, all colour draining from his face as he darted forward to the boy lying on the floor a few feet from the bed, his skin a shade of stark white, and his lips having a slightly bluish tint as he rasped for breath, unable to take in enough air.

"Alfred! Oh God…" the boy's skin was clammy and even warmer than before, his chest heaving as he gave a choked whimper, eyes rolling unfocusedly. He vaguely remembered reading about seizures that sometimes occurred if children were sick, but that didn't really help him at the moment. He only realized he was panicking when Francis's hand connected with his cheek harshly.

"Arthur, calm down! Come on, we must get him to the hospital!" the Frenchman said urgently, for once being the responsible and clear-minded one. Arthur nodded shakily, collecting the small, trembling form in his arms and moving as fast as he dared out of the room.

"I'll drive," Francis said as Arthur threw a rain coat around the limp boy in his arms in order to protect him from the rain that still fell heavily from the dark sky. As Francis drove at a near mad speed towards the hospital, Arthur tried frantically to remember what he'd read about seizures. It was useless, however, and he could only hold the boy gently in his arms, murmuring soothing words and feeling absolutely, completely and utterly helpless.

"He's not getting better?" Francis asked, not daring to look away from the road, thankfully deserted at this time of the evening. Arthur shook his head numbly, but realized Francis didn't see it.

"No…" he managed, voice thick with emotion. Francis nodded, still focused on driving remotely safe, despite the reckless speed.

"Almost there," he said after a while, taking a sharp right turn that had the wheels giving a screech of complaint.

"Hang in there, Alfred, you'll get help soon," Arthur whispered. Alfred only gasped weakly in response, clutching the Englishman's shirt in his small fist. The Englishman hadn't taken the time to put on any more clothes, and didn't care that the ones he wore looked crumpled and very… indecent – a word not usually used to describe Arthur Kirkland.

Finally they reached the hospital, and darted out of the vehicle, heading towards the emergency entrance in a hurry. It felt as though Arthur's mind went into a state of shock, as doctors took the boy from his hands and rolling him on a stretcher out of sight. He didn't notice the tears rolling down his cheeks, nor the words of the Frenchman standing beside him.

The only thing he noticed was Alfred disappearing through a pair of doors, before feeling his energy suddenly giving away. He didn't even hear Francis' startled cry as he collapsed to the hospital floor, unconscious before he could feel the impact.

oOo

His eyes shot open the moment he woke up and he blinked, staring up into a white, neutral roof. Where was he? What was going on? For a moment, confusion clouded his mind, but then everything seemed to get back to him.

"Alfred!" he gasped, sitting up abruptly, giving a moan as his head swam with the sudden movement.

"_Arthur_!" he didn't have time to react before he felt someone embracing him, strong arms holding him tightly for a moment before releasing him. Francis didn't seem to care about the awkwardness of the movement, only smiled, visibly relieved.

"F-Francis…? Where's Alfred? Is he all right?" The Frenchman only held a hand before his eyes, possibly to hide the tears he tried to prevent from falling as he pointed over to another bed in the room.

Arthur didn't hesitate for long, jumping from the bed and rushing over to the other, where Alfred was lying. The child was still pale, but not nearly as bad as before, his cheeks flushed and his breathing thankfully even.

"Thank God…" Arthur whispered, pulling a chair over and sitting numbly next to the bed, holding Alfred's small hand in his own.

"You scared me, _Mon cher_ Arthur…" Francis stood beside him. "Passing out like that… The doctor said you have been pushing yourself too hard, not getting enough rest, which, added to the stress, caused you to faint."

"I'm sorry…" Arthur murmured. He hated making people worry, even if it was Francis. "What did he say about Alfred? Will he be ok?"

"There you go again, always thinking about others…" Francis didn't get to say anything else, before the door opened and a tall man clad in a white coat came inside, closing the door behind him.

"Ah, I see you are awake, Mr. Kirkland," he said, giving a smile as he came over, holding out his hand. "I'm Dr. Summer." Arthur stood and shook his hand.

"H-how is he?" he asked yet again, hoping that this time he'd get some answers.

"I'm happy to say that he'll be quite all right. It seems your son caught a bad cold, but developed a fever that's a bit above average for children his age. The fever caused him to have something called a Febrile Seizure." At Arthur's concerned and confused expression, the doctor smiled mildly.

"It's a convulsion that's caused by a sudden spike in body temperature – in this case the cold he caught. They might seem very bad, but this type of seizure is rarely as dangerous as it may seem. Some children have worse seizures than others, and it seems young Alfred is one of those children. You did right in bringing him here quickly, even if it passed on its own after a while."

Arthur sat down shakily, his mind taking in the information as he looked at the sleeping boy, looking fairly peaceful now.

"So… he'll be all right?"

"Yes. His fever is already going down, and he should feel better with a few more days of bed rest and plenty of liquid."

"I see…" The Englishman felt numb, his racing heart slowly calming down again.

"I'd like to keep him here until he wakes up, but I don't think there will be any problem with taking him home afterwards." Dr. Summer smiled again, excused himself and left the room.

"Your kid is one strong boy," Francis smiled, sitting down at the foot of the bed, refraining from commenting on the tears of relief that made their way down the Englishman's face.

"Yes..." Arthur managed to say, giving a sound that sounded like a mix of a chuckle and a sob. "He sure is." And his eyes rested on Alfred's face, filled with warmth.

oOo

"Papa, I'm fine, can't I please go outside to play? Please?" Alfred looked up at Arthur with wide blue eyes, practically begging. The Englishman shook his head firmly.

"No. You're not going outside until you're completely healthy again, and that's final."

"But-"

"No, Alfred."

The boy pouted with a small moan. His face had regained most of its colour, and the fever had dropped considerably, only visible in the slight pink tint of his cheeks. It had been two days since the trip to the hospital, and the boy was pretty much back to his cheerful, loud and carefree self. It was needless to say that he had major troubles staying calmly in bed.

"But it's so boring…" he complained. Arthur couldn't help but smile as he sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out and ruffling the boy's hair.

"I know. If you stay put and if you feel better in the morning, I might just let you go out for a while. But only if you behave yourself." Alfred's eyes widened excitedly and he pointedly leant back against the pillows, probably thinking about the crisp autumn air and the outdoor activities he'd been deprived of lately.

The room fell into a comfortable silence for a while, before Alfred shifted slightly, looking up at Arthur.

"Um…" he fell silent, seemingly contemplating if he should say what he wanted or not.

"Hm?"

"Is it… is it okay if I call you p-papa?" the boy blurted out suddenly, blushing slightly. Arthur blinked in wonder. It had been a surprise when the boy first called him that. Still, it felt right, and made his heart give a little leap of happiness every time the word was uttered.

He smiled softly and leant over, kissing the boy's forehead as he'd done earlier.

"If you want me to be your papa, then I'll be very happy," he said and Alfred grinned up at him. Holding up his hands, Arthur complied, pulling him onto his lap as he settled more comfortably against the head of the bed.

"Papa, can you sing that song again?" the boy asked leaning his head against the man's chest, relaxing.

"What happened to you saying I'm not a good singer?" Arthur asked, chuckling quietly.

"You're not really that bad… Even if your stories are much better!" Alfred hurried to add in after the confession.

"You like that song?"

"Mhm."

"Me too."

And Arthur closed his eyes, singing the gentle melody as he heard Alfred give a content sigh, resting comfortably in his arms as the sun moved down outside the window, enveloping the two with a warm, comforting autumn light.

oOo

_Finished~ I really hope you enjoyed my little story, and that you can take the time to leave a review, telling me what you thought of it! Th__at would mean so much to me! ^^ Thank you so much for reading~_

_Mon cher – my dear_

_~Wolfie_


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